Chapter 020

Crowds are uncertain animals.

Harker slept a bit during the night, but not nearly enough. The leaden exhaustion which plagued him the past few days had lessened only by the slightest of shades. He was tired, and his mood was foul, especially after his fight. Willow bark and yarrow root sufficed for his bandaged wounds and bruises, though their healing was not swift and did nothing for the tax the Aberrants had put on his tributary.

Stillwater hung close during the few times Harker tried to get shut-eye. Staring at him. If the little creature was trying to be upsetting, he was exceptionally skilled at it. He subsisted now on sheer grit and mule-headedness. The Gilken would not catch him with his guard down.

Harker stretched, his aching body relishing the movement only until it turned into a cramp. With a wince, he lowered his arms and regarded the village.

It was dawn, and the buttered light gilded the thatched roofs of the village of Creston. It sat behind low walls perhaps a half-mile away, nestled deep into a valley between two bluffs and the distant mountain. From his vantage point, even so far away, Harker could see quite a bit of the bustling crowds inside. It was a surprising amount of people for a village, but he could also spy the remains of a festival draped across buildings and streets.

Threllsnoct is almost three days gone. Why do the decorations linger?

That confused Harker, and things that didn’t line up with expectations were by their very nature hazardous. He swept his gaze across the village, attempting to pick out some reasoning, but there was nothing else to tell. Not from this distance. It was a small place, at least half the size of Vale, but it was sizable enough to bear a single Charterstone. Harker spotted it at the center of town, draped in rain-soaked banners and ribbons.

“Ah, yes. Another human hovel,” Stillwater said, stopping at the cliff’s edge beside him. “Filthy as they are, at least your cities hold my interest. This is just pathetic.”

“Why are we here?” Harker asked again.

“At first I thought it was that Bargain on your arm that bested me. It couldn’t be, though. It’s passive at best, save a few bits. No, it had to be something else.”

Bargain? Harker looked at his arm. “You mean my Chartermark?”

“What else?”

“This isn’t—” Harker trailed off. He realized he truly didn’t know what the Chartermark was supposed to be.

Stillwater groaned. “You took an oath on a Sea-touched chunk of Primordial Stone, human. Do you think that wouldn’t have consequences?”

Technically, Harker had done no such thing. He wasn’t sure how he’d stolen Jeren’s mark, but he’d never sworn a word. “Does it matter if nothing was said during the Bargain?”

“Depends on the strength and purpose. That,” Stillwater sneered at the golden lines. “That is older than most, and backed by a great deal of Stature. Just accepting it out to your flesh is enough to bind you.”

Of course. Harker sighed. “What’s your point, then?”

Stillwater struggled to speak on that, as if he were searching for the right words. Eventually, he gave a grunt of annoyance. “That Sea in you is pulling you apart. I saw it when you were vomiting up all that Water. Quite the trick, by the way. I enjoyed how you soiled all your clothing with salt.”

Wistfully, Harker contemplated the Gilkens broad back. One kick. It would be so easy.

As much as he had tried to hold it back, Harker had experienced two bouts of reflux during the night. The first had been rough. Despite his attempts at pushing and pulling his Water, it had gushed from every part of him, as usual. Stillwater had been fascinated, though he hadn’t asked a single question. His rapt attention was enough, though, and Harker practiced all the harder as the small hours grew light.

Perhaps that was why the second reflux was more of a success. He managed to keep the Water spraying through his entire face and neck, like vomiting instead of a full body deluge. It hurt his guts, wore on his muscles, and generally made everything awful.

But it was an improvement.

“That Chartermark is helping to anchor you, but it’s too weak. Our Bargain…” Stillwater said, teeth clenched. “It’s doing more to patch up your soul, but it’ll be gone soon.”

“How does that work? What does our Bargain have to do with my soul?” Harker hesitated, before realizing the answer. “My Stature.”

“Just so. Humans don’t usually have it, but you’re an unusual one. Just my luck.”

Harker recalled feeling better after tricking Stillwater into his triple life debts. Was that when it had grown? “So are you saying my Stature was activated by our Bargain?”

“More likely it was activated by that,” Stillwater said, jabbed a small claw at Harker’s arm. “But our Bargain enhanced it.”

“So you build Stature by making Bargains,” Harker mused aloud. Stillwater clenched his teeth and nodded. “Interesting. And if I build up my Stature, I’ll last longer with the Sea raging inside of me.”

“You’re a true genius, human. The height of your generation. Shout it from the mountain tops: he can make basic leaps of logic!”

The Eidhrin’s voice echoed across the valley and Harker flinched, stepping back from the cliff. Stillwater was unfazed. “Whatever broke your soul is dangerous. Stature is a bandage, not a cure.” He raised his stubby claw again, shaking it at Harker’s face. “And it will count towards my first debt!”

Harker regarded the creature, staring at him until he lowered his quivering claw. “And Creston plays a part, somehow?”

Stillwater tapped his nose.

“And my Current?”

“One step at a time, human.”

The little monster refused to explain further. He strutted off, winding his way down the cliff, ignoring any attempt by Harker to start the conversation back up again.

Yet another game.

Harker was far from a fool. Stillwater delighted in keeping him in the dark, and it was clear the creature was working on several angles to escape his Bargain. Harker had to be ready. Stillwater may not have been able to harm him directly, but he could easily lead him into danger—their encounter with the Aberrants was evidence of that. Yet just knowing that he was working against him gave Harker a measure of calm.

Law 2—Trust Others To Act In Their Own Best Interest. Stillwater was such a perfect example of the maxim that it was almost a comfort. Expected betrayal was just another piece to play.

The sun was well above the cliffs by the time the pair of them walked through the gates of Creston. If the village had a militia, they weren’t present, and the gates themselves were wide open as if the town had nothing to worry about.

Yet Harker immediately spotted damage to their walls. Claw marks.

The eight-foot walls were five feet thick and made of fieldstone, but they were sturdy. The claw marks slashed across the entire northern side of it, as if dozens of beasts had tried to scale the walls. Recently too, judging by the lack of weathering on the sharp-edged markings.

The people inside seemed unconcerned. They strolled casually, focused on their own business. While it was true that beasts and Aberrants plagued the northern isles, Harker found their easy attitude troubling. He was missing something. Dozens hustled about the streets, wrapping up rain-logged banners and cleaning up debris. Roofing tiles, small bits of timber, and no end of broken sticks littered the rutted road. A storm had clearly come through, but there was little evidence of any attack inside the walls.

Harker passed through, earning glances from the villagers with every step. A small place like Creston would not enjoy many strangers. He cringed inwardly at the attention, but offered a polite nod.

“Hello young sir!” The man was older, perhaps in his early fifties and weathered by the sun. His broom bent as he leaned against it and tipped his flat-brimmed hat up. “Out traveling a bit early this morning?”

“Yes,” Harker managed after an uncomfortable pause.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Exceptional response,” Stillwater chuckled.

“Gets the blood flowin’, don’t it? Always happy to see a new face.” He started sweeping again. “If you’ve come for the market, it’s delayed until midday. The festival and storm has all our schedules turned around.”

“Was there an attack?”

“Hmm?” the old man looked up, glancing at the open gates. “Ah, you saw the wall. There were a few vicious beasties knocking on our doors during the storm…but the Aspirant took care of them.”

Harker perked up. Aspirant meant a student of the Nine Spires. “They’re here?”

“Oh yes, somewhere toward the inn, last I knew.”

“Thank you, sir.” Harker inclined his head slightly and started moving. For his part, the old man waved happily and got back to cleaning his shopfront.

He moved through the growing crowd, exchanging pleasantries with every other step. His guts clenched and his neck was struck by a flop sweat, but each interaction was exceedingly calm. It was unnatural; no one was nice to Harker.

It has to be a trick. A trap. Something…

Harker forced himself to take a breath. The attention made his skin crawl, but it wasn’t malicious. For the first time, he realized that he was far enough away from the Vale that folks didn’t know the Knack healer on sight.

If they find out though… He buried the thought. They wouldn’t. And besides, he would be gone soon enough.

“Noisy for such a runt settlement,” Stillwater groused from Harker’s side. “And these old creatures…Untalented all. Fah.”

“Shut it,” Harker snapped.

“Excuse me?” A woman stopped nearby, hand clutching at her chest.

“Sorry, I was—I wasn’t talking to you.”

The woman paused a long moment, letting her eyes rove down to his boots and back before she dismissed him with a sniff.

Stillwater grinned. “They’ll brand you as crazy if you talk to yourself, human.”

Harker scowled but hustled forward. Stillwater followed.

It was odd seeing the Gilken move through the crowds, thin as they were. People seemed to instinctively avoid him, taking extra steps to walk around. Even if they were in conversation with others, none of them noticed in the slightest.

“Can no one see you?” Harker asked as the crowds vanished.

“Not unless I allow them to.” Stillwater pursed his lips. “Few are as strange as you.”

Harker decided to take that as a compliment.